


Boy in Wet Clothes

by its_mike_kapufty



Series: Rhink Ficlets [4]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, College, Denial of Feelings, Drinking, Drunkenness, M/M, Party, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 15:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_mike_kapufty/pseuds/its_mike_kapufty
Summary: Rhett runs into the last person he wants to see while trying to enjoy himself at a college party.





	Boy in Wet Clothes

The carrot-and-rabbit-patterned curtains that looked straight from the 70’s tickled Rhett’s brain in a way that they definitely would _not_ have if he weren’t sloshed.

Honestly he should have started politely declining drinks about three beers ago. But it was Friday night--the last weekend before the end of spring break, to be more specific--and it wasn’t often that an engineering kid with no extra-curriculars got invited to a frat party. He’d decided early in the evening that he would make the most of it. After all, frat parties meant sorority girls, cheap booze, and plenty of ways to entertain oneself. Even if that just meant giggling at ridiculously dated decor.

So there he was, sitting next to his roommate on a stained white couch, in a cramped living room that was breaking fire code with its massive crowd of partygoers. Pulsing music that he didn’t recognize thrummed through the cheap walls. A cheer arose from the folding-table game of beer pong nearby. Rhett smirked and watched through lazy-lidded eyes as a petite blonde snatched up a red plastic cup and chugged its contents as daintily as possible. When froth missed her mouth and slipped down her chin, running along her throat and collarbone, he turned and nudged his roommate.

“Gregg. What’s her name?” he asked, motioning to the girl with his beer.

The other took a second to focus, his stuttering gaze following the neck of Rhett’s bottle. “That’s Tammy. Good… good luck with that, brother. She’s a preacher’s daughter. Lit’rally.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with preacher’s daughters,” Rhett shrugged. He knew the type. He could at least make small talk with her, no problem. “Tabby, you said?”

Gregg snickered. “Yeah, man. _Tabby._ Have fun.”

Confidence flowing, Rhett stood and slipped his free hand into his pocket. He was debating a good first line to use on her when on his left the front door opened and a blustery wind brought in a small group of newcomers. More guys--more competition. They shot into the room like a spring coil let loose, eager to catch up to the house level of inebriation, leaving only one standing in the doorway. The loner kicked aside the wet umbrellas at his feet and took time to shake rain from his hair and glasses.

Rhett would’ve recognized that drenched kid anywhere.

With a hiss he sat back down and wheeled on Gregg. _“_ _You_  said he wasn’t gonna be here!”

His roommate gave him a look-- _the fuck you growling about_ \--before glancing behind Rhett. His face fell. “Ah, shit. Sorry dude. You know how these things go, though. Can’t control who shows up.”

“Give me the dorm key,” Rhett commanded, bowing his head to stare at Gregg’s jacket pocket. “I’m out.”

“What?! C’mon, don’t be ridiculous!” The condescending grin on Gregg’s face did nothing to calm the taller one. “You’re both here to have fun. Just relax. No one’s gonna make you talk to him. Plus, look at how many people are here! It’s a party.” When Rhett’s brow remained furrowed in doubt, Gregg laughed and slapped him on the back. “All right bud. What’d’you say we get our _pong_ on? I’m not a bad shot. Let’s fuck these people up.”

Uneasy as he was, Rhett couldn’t argue. The distraction would be good. Give his hands something to do, help him meet new people, and hell, get a few more drinks into him while he was at it. “Fine.”

Gregg hadn’t lied; he _wasn’t_ a bad shot. They stepped in to replace a losing team, earning a lazy chorus of heckling and shit-talk as they took their spots shoulder to shoulder at one end of the card table. The first round was almost _embarrassing_ for their opponents, who’d become so cocky at their success thus far that their loss was a fall from grace. A very satisfying fall from grace.

Unable to resist the spirit of reverie for long, Rhett lost himself in the game and was soon trash-talking every pair who dared challenge him and Gregg. The dizziness, the flush of an alcohol blanket draping over his cheeks, the constant bass line of music… being drunk off the atmosphere was entirely different. It fed his gut in a way he wasn’t familiar with--until he was roaring insults along with the crowd at yet another shamed team.

_“Yeah!! That’s right, motherfuckers!”_

_“Wooooo! Get ‘em, Gregg!!”_

_“Ohhhh my god! That was insane!”_

When a new duo finally stood defiantly across from the reigning champs, Rhett steadied himself on the table, ignoring Gregg’s tightening arm around his shoulders.

“Hey, Rhett,” came the melodic voice, somehow singing across the deafening party, reaching the blonde’s ears so easily it felt like an affront. Link grinned up at him from across the set of cups, wearing the same waterlogged coat he’d arrived in, hair slicked down to his face in damp clumps. His cheeks were rosy with drink already, but that only served to highlight just how goddamn blue his eyes were.

“Link,” Gregg responded with a cheerful nod, giving Rhett yet another slap on the back. The smack was just what Rhett needed to snap out of it.

“Big mistake, Neal,” Rhett grinned, tossing a ball and catching it deftly. “You’re going down.”

“I dunno, Mark here says he’s pretty good.” Link shoved a thumb at the small guy with blonde hair on his side. “And from the looks of it, Gregg’s been carryin’ your team, so…” Link shrugged, smirking that signature smirk. The one Rhett hated and couldn’t resist returning at the same time.

“Bring it on, then, assholes,” he growled, inviting their first throw.

The round was a showstopper--Rhett couldn’t hear the music anymore over the screaming of dozens of spectators egging them on at every toss.

Drink for Rhett.  
Drink for Link.  
Drink for Rhett.  
Drink for Gregg.  
Drink for Rhett.  
Drink for Link.

Soon only one cup was left on both sides of the table. The atmosphere had evolved from electricity to anticipation. Someone had even turned down the music for the big finale... which was anticlimactic, as one more nonchalant toss from Gregg sealed the fate of the game, and the entire house exploded into cheers. Rhett wore a shit-eating grin as he watched Link pick up the last cup, tip it in Rhett’s direction in toast, then down the entire thing.

Ignoring the congratulatory pats and slaps peppering his shoulders and arms, Rhett stepped around the table and leaned in close to his old friend’s ear. “Come with me.”

 

-

 

“How’d you know this was down here?” Link drawled, gazing around at the spacious basement. Underneath the frat house was a massive square room, its walls made of slick concrete. It was largely unfurnished, save for a few amenities and boxes full of house relics.

The two of them were alone--which, while the thought had been a nightmare of Rhett’s just an hour or so earlier, now seemed to be a blessing. Getting away from the energy of the party was probably good for him. 

“I didn’t,” Rhett answered easily. “Just figured. Look--here’s the dryer. You should get out of those clothes. You’re shivering.”

Link looked down in surprise, not missing the way he was hugging himself. “Am I?”

“Yeah. C’mon, even a ten-minute run will do ‘em good. No point freezing your ass off if you don’t have to.” Rhett opened the dryer door, patting the top as if to say, _empty! All yours._

“Yeah… I guess.”

Rhett watched in growing disbelief as Link sat down on the floor and began removing his outfit one piece at a time. First his jacket, then he peeled his shirt off. When he stopped to stare at his jeans, Rhett snorted. “What are you doin’?”

“I just. I dunno if I wanna take my pants off. Then I'd be 'that guy in the boxers last weekend.'” Link let out a giddy laugh and peered up at Rhett, the effect of drink obvious on his face. “'Zat weird?”

“I _meant_ why the heck did you sit on the floor to get undressed, ya freak?” Rhett chuckled, pointing at Link as if the other couldn’t see where he’d plopped his butt.

“I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t fall over,” Link protested, still giggling. “Don’t trust my… ma balance righ’ ‘bout now.”

“You that drunk? You just got here, son.” Rhett leaned against the cool wall, watching the boy in the floor in amusement.

“Well… I uh. I saw you were here, and I basic’ly ran into the kitchen for shots. So, yeah! I’m pretty wasted.” The admission was so casual, Rhett couldn’t help but smile fondly.

In that moment, the rejection hadn’t happened. Things hadn't changed. They were the same as they were those years ago, time spent laughing and loving life and creating memories together. The thought made Rhett’s chest ache, and he quickly rubbed a hand over his eyes. After a deep breath he nodded. “S’why I played beer pong, too.”

“I ain’t dumb, man. I knew that.”

“Oh, and yet you decided to challenge me?” Rhett lifted an eyebrow. “That’s… douche. Douche move.”

Link gave another soft grin at his pants before snapping his head up to look at Rhett. “Should I dry the pants?”

“Nah. They ain’t that wet. Plus, if anyone asks, you c’n just lie and say ya peed yourself.”

“Gross, man.” Pulling himself from the floor, Link snatched up his clothes and made an exaggerated show of slamming them into the open mouth of the dryer. Wordlessly Rhett closed the door and turned the machine on for him. The clicking murmur of jostling laundry filled the room.

Rhett should’ve turned and headed for the stairs. He should’ve made that time with Link as short as possible. But something kept his feet glued where he stood. Seeing him again after so much passed time--after hundreds of ignored calls, lost annual traditions, and three missed birthdays… it was surreal. And the alcohol certainly wasn’t helping. Rhett felt like he was staring at a mirage, like his hand would slip through if he were to reach out and--

“It’s good to see you again,” Link offered, his voice and smile both small.

Tiny changes lost to anyone but Rhett began to stick out on the Neal boy the longer he scrutinized him. The way he held himself had shifted, without a doubt. It wasn’t Rhett’s imagination that he now commanded attention wherever he went. The confident posture. That feathered brown hair he'd finally learned how to take care of. The beginnings of a five-o-clock shadow that would no doubt be gone by tomorrow morning.

Had his eyes always been so _blue?_

Yeah. That hadn’t changed. Crystalline.

“Rhett?”

Thoughtlessly his hands found Link’s hips, drawing a surprised breath as Rhett hoisted him to sit atop the dryer. Eye-level with one another.

“What the hell?” Link asked, confusion winning over anger in his voice as he looked Rhett up and down. “Lemme down.”

“No.”

“This isn’t funny, Rhett. Let me down.”

“Why?” Rhett dared. Resting his palms on either side of Link’s thighs on the machine, he stepped close and pressed his stomach against the other’s knees, silently asking for them to open.

Link didn’t flinch. “Cause! I’m not just gonna sit here and let you tease me.”

“Who’s teasin’?” Rhett murmured, catching the way Link’s chest was beginning to flutter.

“You! I know what you’re doin’,” Link shot back, patience wearing thin. “You’re tryna get me all worked up, ‘cause you think it’ll be entertaining. Think it’ll be a hoot to rile up someone you _know_ used to have feelings for you. Just ‘cause you’re fuckin' drunk.” Link shook his head, trying and failing to pry away one of Rhett’s arms keeping him on the dryer. “S’fucked up, man. This ain't you. C’mon.”

“Link. Look at me.” Rhett bowed his head, holding those light eyes steady once he had them.

Link winced at the openness of the gesture, like it was burning him. “What?”

There were plenty of words Rhett wanted to say.

_I miss you._

_I never meant to hurt you._

_I wish we could’ve stayed friends, but I couldn’t have asked that of you._

_I’m sorry that I had to keep my distance after you confessed._

_I’m sorry I didn’t pick up the phone whenever you called._

_I’m sorry._

Instead Rhett broke the eye contact, dipping his head further and calmly bringing his arms up and around the chilled chest of the boy in front of him. Link’s entire body tightened--Rhett could hear him opening and closing his mouth, searching for the words to give. Failing to provide the proper response to _this._

“You’re so cold.” Rhett rested his scratchy chin on Link’s shoulder. The brunette shuddered under the sensation and Rhett watched, mesmerized, as goosebumps formed along his slender shoulders and back. All at once did he become aware of exactly what he was doing--drunkenly pinning his ex-best friend--who was _also_ drunk--into a hug in a secluded basement at a kegger. He blinked hard, sobering a little.

“I… I’ll leave you alone,” Rhett whispered.

When he moved to pull away, Link’s arms wrapped around him with such force that it tore the breath from his throat. The returned embrace was frantic, pleading. Clutching fingers bunched fistfuls of fabric at his back. Link pressed his face hard into his shoulder, shifting to push his glasses out of the way so he could bury his eyes. After a few seconds, the sound of short, choked sobs reached Rhett’s ears, and the blonde felt the telltale stutters and hiccups of someone grieving in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Rhett. For what I did to us.”

His voice was so meek.

“You should re-join the party. Thanks for helping me with my clothes.”

Ashamed.

“I won’t approach you anymore. No matter where I see you.”

Broken.

With a deep, shaking breath, Rhett readjusted his grip, pulling Link in closer, ensuring that his arms completely enveloped the smaller one. Link’s knees finally gave way and parted, allowing Rhett to close the distance between them, pressing their chests together. When Link instinctively wrapped his legs around Rhett’s waist without a second thought, Rhett had to close his eyes against how natural the action had been for Link.

How many times had Link dreamt about doing that to him?

“I don’t mind if you talk to me, bo.” Rhett could feel his shirt dampening. The wracking of Link's shoulders only worsened when Rhett reached up to cradle the back of his head. Absently his fingers nestled in the hair there, petting him cautiously. Somehow, through the sobs, the shirtless boy still managed hushed, strained words.

“I miss you.”

“I know.”


End file.
